


You're Amazing, You're Spectacular

by MinkaMouse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cupid Ned, Cute Peter Parker, F/M, Fluff, Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man on the job, Friends to Lovers, Marvel - Freeform, Nice Peter, Soft Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinkaMouse/pseuds/MinkaMouse
Summary: It takes a while for Peter Parker to realize that you have dyed your hair blonde.(A/N I know most Reader stories involve inserting your own name/hair color/etc, but Reader's hair being dyed blonde is important to me just because it was the inspiration for the story. Rest assured, everything else about Reader (name, skin, eyes, etc) is entirely up to you :) )





	1. Chapter 1

There is something new about you that Peter Parker cannot quite place. You waltz into the classroom, large grin on your face, and your group of girlfriends immediately call you to them, squealing and complementing you. Even with Peter’s heightened hearing, he cannot decipher what it is they are saying to you—frankly, he feels like he is cheating if he does chose to listen in on the conversation—and is left to figuring out the mystery on his own.

He looks over your outfit first. You, like any normal person, repeat your outfits and Peter is sure that he has seen every school appropriate outfit that you own. It is not like he has your entire closet memorized. He is not some sort of creep. (He hopes). But Peter is confident that your sweater is not what is different about you. It is your favorite and he has seen you donning it on more than one occasion, happily playing with the long sleeves when you need to do something with your hands.

Your jeans have large white paint stain from the time you and Peter were paired up for a project the precious year. Peter had fumbled with the paint brush and had thus ruined your jeans forever. It is a wonder why you still wear them around. His eyes turn to your shoes and, for a moment, for a moment, Peter thinks that they are new but then he notices that the shoe laces are frayed and there is old mud staining its sides. You probably just haven’t worn them to school in a while.

“You figure it out yet?” Ned asks from Peter side and when the young hero glances at his best friend, he sees that he is mimicking is pose, hand propping his chin up as he stares at you.

“Not yet,” Peter says, eyes going back to you and he tells himself again that he is not a creep. “Did you?”

“Moment she walked in.”

“Shoot.”

“It is pretty obvious.”

“ _Shh shh shh_.”

The teacher is already standing behind his desk and has placed his laptop on the table. He has not yet told the class to quiet down, choosing to hook up his laptop to the projector first and pull up the presentation for the day. You are still standing with your friends, bag slung over your shoulder, and the girl closest to you tugs at the bottom of your hair.

“So, no longer a virgin, huh?” Your friend says a little too loud, catching everyone’s attention. Peter’s jaw definitely drops (was that what Ned figured out the moment you walked in? _How?_ ) and the teacher sends your group a disappointed stare.

Your face heats up and you smack your friend’s head, not caring about how much strength you put into it. The rest of your group laughs.

“She means my hair, sir,” you say, unable to meet the teacher’s eyes.

“I hope she does,” the teacher says, voice unamused. “Please, ladies, go back to your seats. Class is about to start.”

You settle in your seat by the window and with the sun shining through, Peter can better see the blonde highlights you have going through your once dark hair. Peter always loved how dark your hair was but now with the blonde streaks going through it, giving it more dimension, Peter finds it difficult to focus, especially when you keep tossing your hair over your shoulder or flipping it away from your face when it cascades down when you hunch over your notebook as you take down notes.

“You’re going to have to look at the board some time, Pete,” Ned mutters under his breath and Peter snaps out of his daze, scrambling to open his notebook and accidentally pushing his pen off the table. He catches it but accidentally skids his chair across the floor, causing the teacher to pause his lecture.

“Everything okay, Mr. Parker?”

“Uh. Yes, yes. Sorry. Just dropped my pen,” Peter replies, waving his pen slightly to show his teacher he wasn’t lying.

“Oh. Good to see that you are finally taking an interest. For a moment there, I thought I had to compete for your attention,” the teacher says, jerking his head towards your direction, earning chuckles and soft hollers from his classmates.

Peter lets out a groan and puts his head down on his table. Ned pats his back sympathetically until he returns to his own notes. The teacher goes back to his lecture and when Peter finally brings his head back up, he dares a glance your way and catches your eye. You flash him a smile and Peter swears, with the sun’s light just behind you, you look like an angel.

“Mr. Parker!” The teacher says in between his sentence and Peter swears that your laugh saves him from wanting to dig a hole to bury himself in.

…

Your hair is brighter this month, more blonde in your hair than brown, and under the sunlight, Peter almost does not recognize you. You have your hair thrown up in a high ponytail, some strands falling out of it to frame your face and curl around your nape. You are dressed in your gym clothes even if your friend is the one out in the field, rehearsing a cheer that Peter is sure is for the upcoming game. You and the rest of your group are in the sidelines, going along with the music, making up your own choreography.

“Stop that!” The cheerleader whines although there is a grin on her glossy lips. “I’m getting the actions mixed up!”

“Maybe you should admit that our moves are _way_ better!” The tallest in the group says back and proceeds to do the floss, the rest of you following her lead, matching her beat even when she starts to pick up the pace, almost going as fast as the kid who coined the dance.

Peter lets out a snort, watching as your hair bobs with your dance. Ned catches the noise he makes and when he looks up from his comic book, he follows Peter’s line of sight and sees that you and your friends are now just jumping along to the music blaring from the speakers. Your hair is starting to droop and when you tear the hair tie off to let your nearly golden looks free, Peter lets out a sigh that makes Ned roll his eyes.

“You are way past creepy now, dude,” Ned says to him, amused smile on his face. “You better not be stalking her when you go out on patrol.”

“What?” Peter snaps his head to him. “Of course not!”

“What? Of course not!” Ned mimics, his voice high and cracking like Peters.

Peter scowls at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Pete. I’m just messing with ya,” Ned grins.

“Don’t act like you don’t think she’s pretty, too.”

“I’m not blind.”

Of course he isn’t. Ned likes looking at you as much as he likes looking at any pretty girl. But Peter’s different. He looks at you like he is trudging through the desert and you are the oasis that has just entered his line of sight, urging him to keep pushing forward until he gets to you.

“Her hair is just…so bouncy,” Peter says lamely, his attention back at you. You are tying your hair back up and it is messier than before thanks to not having a comb on hand and the sweat from dancing and the hot sun. Peter does not seem to mind. “Wish I could just talk to her, y’know?”

“You could,” Ned shrugs. “Not like you guys aren’t friends.”

“We aren’t,” Peter says, hoping that his tone does not give way to how he really feels about that statement. “We just have some classes together. We haven’t even been grouped together since that one class where I spilled paint all over her.”

An exaggeration, really, but Peter could not believe that even with his reflexes, he managed to do something so careless, so stupid, so Peter.

“Well, aren’t you lucky your best friend is basically Cupid?” Ned brings out his phone and shows Peter that he has been texting Betty Brant.

Peter is confused. “What? I don’t get it— _No._ You didn’t. Dude. Oh my God.”

“I did.” Ned pockets his phone and puffs out his chest with pride. “Betty said that our teacher gave her the ok. We switched partners. I’m with the Beautiful Betty Brant and you’re with—”

Peter finishes the sentence for him, your name slipping through his lips like a prayer. He cannot hide his grin, frankly, he does not want to, and he just about pulls Ned into the biggest and tightest hug he has ever given him. Ned lets out a laugh and pats Peter’s shoulder after a moment, thinking that although he appreciates his gratitude, it was simply too hot outside to be hugging. 

“Save it for her, dude,” Ned says, picking up his comic book once more, flipping through it until he found the page he was last on.

“I wish,” Peter breathes out, looking back to you and your friends and seeing that you have split up from the group to get your bag.

Your backpack is on the bench, wide open, books nearly spilling out, and you are now holding your phone, fingers tapping on the screen. Peter is about to avert his eyes because Ned is right, he is getting creepy, but then you look up to him as if sensing his gaze. He panics, nearly falls out of his seat, but you shoot him a large grin and you wave at him, the action needlessly exaggerated because you are so far away.

Peter returns it anyway. Although his is a bit smaller, more shy.

You gesture to your phone next, pointing at it, still smiling, and Peter gets the message. Literally. His phone vibrates in his pants pocket and when he pulls it out, he sees that you had sent him a message through Facebook. (He tries not to think about how you two have not chatted since that one project.)

_Hey, partner ;)_

…

In the two weeks that you and Peter have been together, working on not only your paper, but also the presentation, Peter had found that he had probably been looking at you with rose tinted glasses that first time you two worked together because he does not remember you being the personification of a tornado during an assignment.

To start with, your notes are a mess, penmanship almost illegible and the corners of your pages filled with doodles and song lyrics that you probably got stuck in your head when you were on the bus to school. (Peter tries to ignore the little spider web doodle that you often have at the top right corner of every other page and the spider that dangles on it). You also space out as much as he does, stopping in the middle of your sentences to bring up a story about a strange man you met on your way home from the deli the other day and how your brother had accidentally stolen someone else’s pizza order.

You stumble over your words a lot when you try to explain a concept you had just learned or paraphrase the paragraph you had just read, sometimes you use words that Peter is sure does not exist in any language known to man, and you like to distract him when he finally gets himself to focus. Your favorite method is showing him memes that have been re-uploaded on Instagram and videos of baby animals. Peter cannot deny you when you lean on his shoulder as you swipe through your phone.

(If Peter really thought hard about it, he is sure that the paintbrush incident last year was more your fault than his.)

It is a miracle that you both finish the project on time. In fact, a little earlier than most. For all the procrastination you both do (plus Peter disappearing halfway through meetups in to do hero business), you work well together when you finally get into the zone and Peter cannot thank Ned enough for giving him this opportunity to get closer to you.

The bond you created during long hours of working continued long after the presentation and Peter would find himself waving to you in the cafeteria when you could not find your group of girlfriends anywhere. You would sit next to him eagerly, a new story to tell already slipping past your lips, and it is a wonder how you finish your lunch in time when all you do is talk during the break.

You and Ned get along great, sometimes you give him news on Betty Brant, the latest gossip and a bit of advice, while other times Ned gives you movie recommendations, making sure to emphasize that Peter has the files if you ever need them.

Somehow, you and Peter get into a routine of watching an old movie every other week behind the bleachers as you wait for your friend to finish her practice so that your group could commute to the old diner to have smoothies and pancakes.

Things between the two of you are going great, better than Peter could ever imagine.

And it’s all thanks to his best friend, Cupid—Ah, Ned. He means Ned.

…

The hair at the back of Peter’s neck stands on end and he is just about to jerk away, feeling that something is coming, when arms wrap around his front and he feels your chest press against his back. Your breath is in his ear, cheek practically touching his, and Peter swears that he has stopped breathing.

This is something new for the two of you and Peter is quick to learn that once you become comfortable with someone, you are very open about your affection. He has seen the way you and your girlfriends interact, always hugging and kissing each other’s cheeks without caring who was there to see. You walk with your arms looped together and you lean on each other’s shoulders after a long day.

He had experienced just a handful of these moments, your head on his shoulder as you show him funny Tweets on your feed and how you would loop your arm with Ned’s when the two of you would head to your next class, Peter and Betty walking the opposite way.

The hugging had caught him completely by surprise. His spidey-sense did not even see it coming. He was having lunch with Ned, Betty, and MJ when you came along, arms going around his waist, face buried between his shoulder blades.

Your celebrity crush had replied to your Tweet last night and you could not stop the tears of joy from slowing down your cheeks.

You had printed the Tweet out and had it laminated. It serves as a bookmark in your diary.

“What’s up, Pete?” You ask, bring the hero out of his thoughts and he just barely manages to close his notebook, hiding away his notes on Web fluid and ideas of how to better improve his suit. (He needs to find a way to stop the chaffing.)

“Nothing, just notes, you know?” He says, angling his neck so that he could see you. Your face his shadowed from where the light is and your hair falls to his face, tickling his nose. He scrunches his nose, praying that he does not sneeze. “What’s up?” He returns to you, trying to keep calm even though you have yet to release him from your embrace.

“Nothing much. The girls have their own thing right now. Watching a show about dragons.”

Peter smiles from the expression on your face. As much as he loves your smile (and thank God you always seem to have something to smile about, your lips always quirked up whenever he sees you), he loves the way you look when you are displeased about something. You had that look on a lot during the editing of your paper.

“Not a fan?” He asks even though he already knows this. You can’t keep up with long series and you get all the characters’ names wrong. Your friends had stopped forcing you to watch with them three episodes in. “I would have thought you were copying—”

“If I get called Daenerys one more time, I swear I’m going to lose it,” you say as you take your arms back, folding them across your chest.

“But your hair, I mean, c’mon.”

“I mean it, Pete.” The glare you give him is at best just you squinting your eyes. “I’m gonna hurt you so bad that not even Spider-Man can save you.”

Peter laughs at that statement for a number of reasons. When he finally calms himself, he reaches for the ends of your hair, tugging at it like how your friends do. Your head tilts slightly at his action, as if he had used enough force to actually make you jerk his way.

“Your hair is getting really light,” he says quietly, fondly. “I sort of miss your dark hair.”

“So does my mom. She’s complaining that I look like an old lady out in the sun.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” Peter grins. “You never know. Maybe Spider-Man will help you cross the road.”

…

Peter thinks he will never get tired of the sensation of swinging through the buildings of New York, landing on a rooftop only to jump off, web the next building, and swing off into the sky once more. Sometimes he wishes that he could feel the wind in his hair but, unfortunately, secret identities are a thing and he has to make do with his mask.

Queens is quiet this afternoon and it does not take long for Peter to finish his usual patrol route. He takes a break at the nearest fire escape, legs dangling as he watches people pass below him, and he thinks about what Aunt May could possibly have planned for dinner. Maybe they can eat out at his favorite pizza place if her cooking does not work out.

He easily spots you in a crowd without meaning to. (Your mother was right; your hair is basically white under the sun.) You have your backpack slung over your shoulder and you are balancing your science project in your arms. You are nearly finished with it, having bragged about it to him during lunch period, and it seems like if Peter leaves you to continue on your way, project large enough to obscure your vision, you are going to have to start from scratch.

Peter does not need his spidey-sense to tell him that you are moments away from danger. He shoots out a web and swings down to the ground, startling passersby, and is just in time to catch you when the toe of your shoe catches on an uneven step.

“ _Fu—_ ”

“Shh there are children around!”

You lower your project to see who had just spoken to you and Peter is quick to catch it when you drop it from surprise. You stare at him, mouth agape, and he has to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Hi there, Miss,” Peter says, trying and failing to make his voice sound any different. He hopes that you do not notice. “Need some help?”

“Y—You’re...you are…oh my God. Do you know how you are?”

“Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, at your service,” Peter supplies, glad that his mask hides his cheeky grin. “Care to tell me where I’m walking you to?”

You stutter out your address and Peter debates whether or not it is better to swing there. He thinks not and realizes that now he has to walk you all the way to your apartment. Not that he is complaining. It is just that he is sure that he is going to see some very interesting photos online later tonight.

And he did. Sort of.

You technically sent him a link before he could even Google himself.

Peter peels the mask off his head just as he brings out his phone and he sees your message. You sent it to him just after he dropped you off and zipped away.

_Guess who’s that cute girl walking next to Spider-boy ;)_

Peter rolls his eyes, smile on his lips. “It’s Spider- _Man._ ”

…

Ever since Liz left, your friend, Rie, has been in charge of throwing parties at her house, inviting anyone and everyone she could. Peter thinks that he prefers Rie’s parties over Liz’s mainly because Flash is not in charge of the DJ booth and has lost his rights to the microphone. Instead, Aapti has one of her playlists booming and Peter finds himself bobbing his head to the beat, drink in his hand. Ned and Michelle are by the snack table, Betty is preparing herself a plate, and Peter finds you the dance floor, jumping around and singing along to the music.

You seem to have heard Aapti’s playlist before because you know exactly when the beat drops and what song is going to play next. Peter is distracted by the way your hair seems to change color along with the lights, going from red to blue to green. He does not notice that you had already stopped dancing and are now making your way towards him, hair going from pink to yellow to red. You greet Ned and MJ with a wave, Betty does not see you, too busy talking to her other friends, and you wrap your arm around Peter’s waist, bringing him closer to you.

“Heya, Pete,” you say, grinning at him and Peter somehow manages to return your greeting without stuttering. He sees Ned smirking at him and MJ is raising her brows, gesturing at the two of you, before making a smug face. Peter angles himself so that you do not see his friends and you look at him wide eyed and clueless.

“You enjoying the party?” You ask him, mouth in his ear so that you do need to shout. Peter feels his cheeks and neck warm from your proximity and he nearly drops his cup from how sweaty his palms feel. He is lucky that he can stick to practically any surface.

“It’s great,” Peter says and when you tilt your head at him, one brow raised, he sees that you did not hear him at all. He can feel Ned’s eyes at the back of his head as he mimics your action, practically pressing his lips to your ear. “It’s great,” he repeats and he swears he just felt you shiver. “It’s nice not having Flash say ‘Penis Parker’ every time he sees me.”

“Screw, Flash,” you say and Peter cannot believe that your face is this close to his. Is it his heartbeat that is ringing in his ears or yours? He cannot tell anymore but he prays that you’re feeling the same things he is. “He’s just jealous that girls find you cute!”

“What?” It’s Peter’s turn to look at you with wide eyes.

“You’re cute!” You say and Peter sees that your cheeks are red not because of the light but because you are blushing, too. “All my friends find you cute. They like your sweaters and nerdy shirts.”

Peter cannot believe what he is hearing, this is a first, but as he looks into your eyes, he sees that you are not pulling his leg and the young hero, with bright cheeks and sweaty palms, asks you if you think the same way.

This time, he is sure he stutters.

You stare at him, surprised by his question, and Peter wishes that he had the power to turn back time but, alas, the question was now hanging above both your heads and now all he could do was wait for your reply. He hopes you play it off, joke around with him like you always do, but you avert your eyes and Peter feels his world about to crash down until you let a laugh slip through your lips and you are back to looking at him, grinning.

“Of course I do, Peter,” you say and Peter feels your hand around his waist grip his jacket. You are nervous but Peter does not know why until you begin talking again and Peter thinks he is dreaming. “I think you are very cute. Handsome. Attractive,” you are laughing now and you look as if you have just unloaded a large weight off your shoulders. “Oh hell…I like you, Peter!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker figures out how to be in a relationship

“I messed up. I messed up so bad. I’m screwed. Holy hell she is going to kill me,” Peter rambles as he swings through the night faster than he ever has before. It was only supposed to be a short patrol, he even went out earlier than usual, but then all the thugs and brutes of Queens decided to come out and, well, Spider-Man did not exactly have a team backing him up.

“Peter, you need to have your side checked,” KAREN tells him when Peter winces from using his left arm to make a sharp turn. “It could get infected.”

“Later,” Peter says, gritting his teeth. “I cannot be any later than I already am.”

“I’m sorry. I was not aware that you had a meeting with someone.”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter says, saying your name as if it would explain everything to the AI. It probably did. God knows how many times he has talked about you during patrol. “I was supposed to meet her parents tonight.”

KAREN makes a humming noise in his mask almost as if she were thinking over what he had just said.

“It is nearly midnight, Peter.”

“I know.” Of course he knows this. That’s why he knows that he has royally messed up.

“I don’t think her parents are waiting for you,” KAREN continues. “If my records are correct, you even sent her a message saying you can’t make it.”

“I _know,_ ” Peter repeats and his heart is beating faster and harder in his chest when he sees your building come into view. Just a few more seconds. “But she might still be waiting for me.”

And you are. Peter lands on the fire escape just outside your window on the fifteen floor. He looks around and sees that no one is there to see him (why would there be?) and he hits the spider on his chest with a little too much force than necessary. He winces. A thug had hit him pretty good there a few minutes ago. He should have remembered.

When Peter pulls down his shirt and stuffs his suit into his bag, he looks into your window and sees that had fallen asleep on your desk. He sees your phone lying next to you and catches sight of your desk’s clock.

It is really late. Too late to be calling.

He calls anyway.

You wake up after the fifth ring, bleary eyed, and you see him outside your window before you could even look at your phone.

Peter thinks he is lucky that you do not even let out a scream.

You do look upset though.

“What the hell, Peter?” You whisper-yell at him once you get your window open and let him in.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You aren’t really late,” you say, shrugging your shoulders and not meeting his eyes. “I mean, you _did_ text. You said you weren’t going to come.”

“I did, but I’m still sorry.” Peter puts his hands on your shoulders and bends down a bit so that he could meet your eyes. You jerk your head the other way. “I wanted to be here, really, I did.”

“Then why weren’t you?” You ask, finally looking at him. Peter does not know what to say. He does not have any excuses. Any that you would believe anyway. And he is lost. Your eyes scan his and you shake your head. Peter fears for the worst. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” You step away from him and Peter does not know what to do with his hands.

Peter runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught in the curls. “No, It’s okay. I get it.”

“You…It’s just. I don’t know, Pete. I knew you were flakey but I didn’t realize it was this bad.” You fold your arms across your chest and Peter sees that you are pinching and pulling at the sleeve of your pajamas’ top. “Like, I don’t think you have been on time for a single date and, like, the next day you hardly even apologize for it? You just disappear off with Ned into, I don’t know, some secret base of yours? Betty does not even know what’s up with that.”

Your voice is starting to rise and Peter wonders what would happen if he reminds you to keep your voice down. It seems like a bad idea.

“I want to be patient, I really do. I knew what I was getting into. But I just can’t help but wonder if something else is going on, you know? Like, I don’t think you’re that kind of guy, Peter, but I’m running out of reasons. If you aren’t cheating on me then you are definitely part of some sort of Fight Club.”

Peter says your name, reaching out to you and he makes the mistake of using his left hand because he definitely stretches his wound. He tries to play it off like nothing but you definitely see his face and hear his grunt and you look at him like you do not know him.

“Oh my God. You _are_ part of some sort of Fight Club, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” Peter gasps out. “I…I just got hurt climbing up the fire escape.”

“Don’t lie to me, Peter,” you glare at him and grab onto his wrist, pulling at it with all your might. Peter swears and glares right back at you. “Just be honest. Are you cheating on me?”

Peter lets out a sigh. “No, I’m not. I love you.”

“I…what? Huh? You…no… _Nooooo._ You can’t play that card right now! I’m mad,” you say but you are blushing and Peter wishes he could take a picture of you right now, face red and illuminated by the lights outside. “Are you part of a Fight Club?”

“You know the first rule of Fight Club…”

You pull his arm again and Peter thinks you want your parents to wake up and find him in your bedroom.

“Can you stop doing that?” He hisses.

“What are you hiding from me, Peter?” You loosen your grip on his wrist and move your fingers to lace with his.

Peter looks at your entwined hands, feels the warmth of your skin and sees that you are shaking. You want to trust him, you want to believe him, but he has not really given you any reason to do so. Peter should have known that this double life was going to bite him in the ass. It already did back when Liz’s dad tried to kill him but he wanted to give it another try with you. He admits he abused your kindness. You never complained about his disappearances back when you both were still only friends. It was wrong for him to assume you would still be the same once you both started dating.

That, or, he really was pushing it.

He does not know what to tell you. He does not want to lie but he thinks that if he says the wrong thing, he would never get the chance to hold onto your hand again.

But he also thinks that if you knew, he would lose your touch either way.

There was so many unpredictable elements when it came to Spider-Man.

You begin to release your hold on him but Peter tightens his.

There are so many things Peter cannot predict but if there is one thing he is certain of; it is that he does not want to let go of your hand. He pulls you to him, the tug is not that forceful, but you go to his side without a fight.

“Peter?”

“I can’t tell you. I…I don’t think it’s safe to let you know but…I just need you to trust me on this,” Peter says, pressing his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes and prays that he says the right things this time around. “I’m sorry I haven’t really been there. It’s hard to find a balance but I’m getting better at it, I swear. I just, I need time and I need you and I’m sorry if I’m selfish but I cannot lose you.”

You are quiet and Peter thinks that he has messed up. His side is throbbing with pain and he is pretty sure the blood has stained his shirt and is starting to drip down to his pants but he tries not to focus on that. He straightens up and looks at you, hoping that he does not look too much like a kicked puppy. You stare at him for a moment before letting out a sigh and smiling.

“Okay…by the way, I lo—” Peter envelopes you in a hug before you can get any other word out. You laugh into his shoulder, patting his back, asking him to let you go. “Peter! Pete! Oh my God, Peter Parker! You are _bleeding!_ ”

…

For once, you are nowhere to be found and Peter asks just about everyone who knows you where could be until he finds himself standing in front of the nurse’s office, hand gripping his backpack’s strap so tightly that he feels like he could just rip it off if his nerves got too much. You are probably fine, right? You were fine this morning. Maybe you got a bit dizzy during gym? Got a papercut? Nothing serious or else you would have told him, right?

Right?

Peter can hear your voice coming from inside and he feels himself calm down a little. You do not sound like you are in pain. In fact, you sound like you are confused, processing information that is new and foreign to you. He has heard that tone many times during your study sessions and when Ned would go on about the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek.

He is just about to knock on the door when it slides open and the smell of antiseptic distracts him for a second before he registers that you are standing in front of him, arms covered in Band-Aids and medical bandages.

“A-Are you okay?” Peter panics, hands moving to hold you but stopping short, scared to hurt you. “What happened?”

“Huh?” You quirk your brow at him, confused, and he motions to your arms and the large Band-Aid you have on your forehead. You laugh and close the door behind you, waving the First Aid kid you have in your hand in front of your face. “I was just practicing.”

Peter makes a gesture that tells you that you should elaborate more.

“Well, you see, the other night this hella cute boy practically crawls into my room but instead of making a move on me like I thought he would, he ends up bleeding on my nice fluffy blanket and I thought ‘Hmm. It would be great if I knew how to stop the bleeding lest I tell my mom I had an accident,’” you raise your brows at him. “She’s only going to believe that excuse once a month and I have a feeling this is going to happen often.”

Peter’s cheeks burn. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

You hum. “It’s still good to be prepared. Anyway, what brings you here? You needed something from doc?”

“I just thought it would be nice if I walked you home,” Peter smiles, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, act like a good boyfriend once in a while?”

“You’re a great boyfriend, Peter Parker,” you say fondly, leaning to kiss his cheek. Peter tilts his head just in time to catch your lips and you laugh into the kiss. “Scratch that. You’re amazing. You’re Spectacular.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter laughs, grabbing the strap of your backpack and slipping it off your shoulder and onto his.

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” you grin and loop your arm with his. “Shall we?”

You barely make it around the corner when Peter’s phone begins to ring. You look down at his pocket and see that he is reluctant to pick it up. That’s a first. You walk a couple more feet, pass the pet store and a coffee shop, and Peter caves, pulling the phone out and unlocking it.

Peter had hooked KAREN up to the NYPD’s database and communication’s system in order to get police alerts when the situation drastically calls for Spider-Man’s help. He thought that for today, at least for the afternoon, he could ignore it, but his duty as a hero always comes first and, well, that leaves you in second place. He hates to say it but other people need him right now.

“You have to go?” you ask, already slipping your backpack off of Peter’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says, the apology well-worn by now.

“An emergency?”

“Of sorts,” Peter says, eyes already scanning for the nearest alleyway he could get changed in. He prays that his backpack does not get stolen this time around. When he looks back at you, you offer him the smallest of smiles and, for a second, he wishes that he was just Peter Parker. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to. Just take care, okay?”

Peter cradles the back of your head and pulls you into a deep kiss, the kind that makes your toes curl and forget your own name.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers against your lips before taking off, the sight of his figure disappearing in the distance becoming all too familiar to you.

…

Ned is convinced that he can make a “Flubber” just like in the Robin William’s movie and Peter is there to help him, one hundred percent on board with the idea. In fact, he is jealous that he has not thought about it himself. A Flubber! That what they need in their lives. The two boys are just about to do Experiment # 6 when Betty Brant barges into the lab, you right behind her. She zeroes in on Peter and Ned and neither boy knows what to do. They decide that it is best that they are not holding any breakable objects and that they put out the fire of the Bunsen burner.

“Can you please talk sense into your girlfriend, Parker?” Betty demands, just about slamming her hands on the table as if she needed to get their attention on her.

“Don’t listen to her, Peter, she’s insane,” you say before Peter can even get a word out.

“Oh? I’m insane? At least I know what ‘stranger danger’ is!”

Peter’s brows shoot up at this and he looks you dead in the eye. You avert your gaze and let out an uneasy laugh. He is not amused. He says your name almost like he is warning you and you let out a defeated sigh, pushing your hair away from your face. It has been a while since you last went to the salon and your roots are starting to show.

“Is it a crime to be nice?” You mumble.

“In this city? That’s sort of what leads to some crimes,” Ned says.

“Well, he didn’t seem all that bad.”

“What happened?” Peter cuts in.

“Ms. Congeniality over here nearly fell into the whole ‘I’m drunk, can you help me to that bench?’ bit last night,” Betty huffs, hands on her waist.

“What?” Peter stands, pushing his chair back with so much force that Ned has to catch it before it clatters to the ground. “You said you were okay when you got home!”

You hold your hands up in defense. “I was okay! Nothing happened.”

Betty scowls. “Didn’t you hear the news last week?”

“I…don’t really watch the news. Too much bad stuff going on.” You admit.

“Well, if you did watch it, you would know that there is this creep out in our city who targets pretty blonde girls and you, my friend, fit that category.”

Peter knows this. He has listened in on the police when they talked about the man, how he targets blonde high school girls, specifically. He had been worried, he still is, but he thought you would be fine. He did not think you would actually be the type of person to talk to people you did not know at night. Big mistake. He should have known you better.

“You are not allowed to go home alone,” Peter says, settling back into his seat and taking off his goggles. You stare at him, betrayed. “I mean it. You can get hurt.”

“What about Betty?” You gesture to the girl next to you. “I’m pretty sure she falls under ‘pretty blonde girl,’ too.”

“Ned walks me home,” Betty says.

“Well, I don’t exactly—” You snap your mouth shot, eyes darting to Peter and you can already see the guilty expression forming on his face. You shake your head, deciding that you should just give up and listen to your friends. “Fine, fine. I’ll be careful.”

“That’s all I ask.” Betty’s smiles at you before she suddenly turns to Peter and points a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Actually, no. Peter. Walk your girlfriend home.”

And he does. For a full week, Peter ignores the vibration of his phone, he even transfers from his front pocket to his backpack, and he walks you home. He enjoys it, really, he loves to be with you and he knows that if anything were to happen, he would be right there to protect you, but there is a voice at the back of his head telling him that there are other people in danger and he is ignoring their cries for help. He knows that the police are there, that they are there for a reason, but he knows he can do more and he hates it that he cannot be in two places at once.

You notice his agitation. It is kind of hard to miss it—the way he can’t help but keep looking around as if there is something he needs to keep an eye out for, the way he does not seem to know what to do with his hands even though he is holding yours, and the way that the leisurely pace you both used to take during your walks seems to pick up with each passing minute. The next time you see Peter waiting for you at the school’s gate, phone already slipping into his backpack, you decide that it is enough. You cannot subject him to this torture any longer.

You tell yourself that you will say it the next time his phone vibrates in his backpack which, hardly to your surprise, happens fairly quickly.

“Go, Peter,” you tell him, taking your hand back to take the ponytail out of your hair. You run your fingers through it, watching as Peter looks at you with shock and confusion.

“Huh? Go where?”

“To wherever your phone is telling you to go,” you say. “I know that you get alerts when someone is in danger. I bet you hacked the police’s system, too.”

Peter whispers your name, understanding dawning his features and you hope that in some way, you look the same way because you want Peter to know that you understand, you know that he has a job to do and there are a whole lot more people out there who needs a hero than you do now.

“I promise I’ll get home quick and I won’t talk to strangers.” You already pushing him away, urging him to move. “I even have that app that lets my parents know if I don’t go home in time.”

“You’re…”

You grin. “The best?”

“Amazing. Spectacular.” Peter pulls you close.

“And you’re Spider-Man,” you say softly and, again, push him away. “Now _go._ I can hear sirens in the distance.”

“Oh? Shit. Yes. Oh my God. How did I miss that?” Peter is scrambling. He tries to kiss your cheek but misses, kissing your eye instead. You laugh. “Please call me when you get home. I love you!”

You shake your head, watching his figure grow smaller and smaller until it disappears when he turns a sharp corner. You cannot believe you just said that. You wanted to keep it to yourself, wait until he was ready to tell you, but you honestly felt selfish, keeping him to yourself when other people needed Spider-Man.

The sun was still out and you tell yourself that there is nothing for you to be afraid of. Just keep your phone in your front pocket and walk with purposeful strides. You will be home before you know it.

You are just about to make a turn when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Your response is immediate, you whirl around, prepared to scream to the heavens if it was someone you did not recognize but standing, or rather, hanging in front of you was Spider-Man.

You are pretty sure people are taking pictures and you will once again find yourself on social media.

“You honestly don’t believe that I would leave you behind, do you?” He asks, the white lenses of his mask wide with question.

“I…I thought?”

He holds out his hand and you take it without hesitation. “C’mon, swinging you home will be faster.”

“You’re joki— _AHH!_ ”

…

It is the middle of the night.

Or, at least, Peter figures it is when he wakes up and sees that the living room is pitch black and the only source of light is from the moon shining outside the window. The television has been turned off (probably May) and when he tries to pull you closer to him, he realizes that the two of you are now sharing a blanket (probably May as well).

Peter thinks that the two of you must have been really tired from school and, for him, patrolling to have fallen asleep while watching _Big Fish._ It was one of your favorite movies and you would be really disappointed in yourself tomorrow—or, later today? —when you realize you have disrespected Edward Bloom like this.

“Huh? What time is it?” you sleepily mumble when Peter accidentally jostles you awake trying to get his arm back from under you. His hand feels numb and he tries to flex his fingers in order to wake up his nerves.

“Late,” Peter replies, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. He sees that your legs are stretched out across the sofa and you had managed to push off one of your socks in your sleep. “Your parents are probably worried.”

“Hmm…probably,” you say, not yet fully awake.

“They’re going to kill me.”

“Probably,” you say, again. “Spider-Man: Killed by Girlfriend’s Parents?!”

Peter lets out a low chuckle even though he says, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m funny,” you say, adjusting your position. Peter makes a face when your hair tickles his nose and a few strands enter his mouth. “I’m hilarious.”

“You’re in trouble,” Peter says when he sees your cellphone flashing in the dark. There are no new calls or messages, just your phone alerting you that there have been messages.

You let out a groan and you hold out your hand, swinging it around. Peter watches you, eyebrow raised in question. You aim your hand towards your phone, palm facing upward, and you fold your middle and ring finger until they press the middle of your palm.

“ _Thwip,_ ” you say and Peter can just imagine the mischievous grin on your lips. “Damn, my web shooters are busted.” You smack your wrist with more force than you probably planned. “ _Thwip. Thwiiiiip!”_

Peter rolls his eyes, grinning, and kisses the crown of your head.


End file.
